


what he wants

by cryptidkickflip



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Champion Shiro (Voltron), Character Death, Galra Empire, Galra Keith (Voltron), Galra Shiro (Voltron), Hurt No Comfort, M/M, SHEITH - Freeform, The Arena
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 14:52:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19814593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptidkickflip/pseuds/cryptidkickflip
Summary: the times that keith tried to give shiro what he wanted, even if shiro was technically his mission.and one time keith couldn't.





	what he wants

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY FLOWER EXCHANGE MEENA!!!
> 
> i hope this is everything you wanted and more!!

This is what Keith was raised to do. This is what he was _born_ for, trained for, lived for all his life.

He has to remind himself of this fact every day.

There’s nothing he wants more than to call his mother, let her talk him back from the ledge, but that would blow both of their covers and there is nothing more important than the mission.

_There is nothing more important than this mission,_ he repeats to himself, over and over again in his head like a headache strung into word. Every time another guard taunts him for being so much smaller, every time he’s accused of fucking his way up the ranks, every time a prisoner takes a swing at him, every single goddamn time he is forced to stand on the sidelines as people kill each other for sport…

There is nothing more important than this mission.

He is to gain access to the cell holding the Champion.

He is to gain intelligence on every aspect of the Champion’s bonds and what it would take to free him.

Then he is to radio back to mission control, and then, and _only_ then is he to call for help.

The guards standing just out of earshot, speculating freely about Keith’s parentage, do _not_ count as a situation in which the mission could be compromised. The only thing compromised is Keith’s temper, which he could argue has been compromised for a very, very long time.

_There is nothing more important than this mission,_ he tells himself as he is used as an errand boy for his superiors.

_There is nothing more important than this mission_ , he tells himself as he watches the light fade from the eyes of one of his charges as they lie on the steel floor of their cell after a round in the arena. _There is nothing more important than this mission_.

He hopes that one day, it will be worth it.

* * *

Keith’s big break comes nearly four deca-phoebs into his mission. It’s been a long haul, dragging Keith into the dark underbelly of the arena and stitching him into the rotten, moth-eaten fabric of the inner workings of the beast, but Keith is finally placed in his first position of any importance.

He’s the night guard of the Champion.

As far as ranks go, he barely ranks high enough to lick the boot of the nearest new recruit, but it’ll do.

He’s faced four deca-phoebs of hearing that he’s a half breed, four deca-phoebs of watching the Champion rend opponent after opponent into their basal components, four long deca-phoebs without contact with the Blades. His family. His friends.

They told him the mission would be long, but he hadn’t expected it to be _this_ long.

The only reason why he’d even been offered this post had been a string of guards leaving the position. Keith hadn’t understood why at first.

It was a pretty light detail, as far as guard posts go.

His only job was to stand there and ensure the Champion doesn’t escape in the dead of night.

Keith’s first night, he finds out why every guard has quit the position within a month of the appointment.

The Champion doesn’t sleep. He _screams_.

It begins after lights-out.

Keith was to stand outside of the cell, armed and alert, for any suspicious activity within. The Champion was a flight risk of the highest order, having nearly escaped six times in the five deca-phoebs that he’d been imprisoned in the arena. 

It begins on the first night with a whimper, almost too quiet for Keith to hear. It’s high-pitched, keening; long and on an exhale. Keith peered into the cell with a frown but returned to standing at attention after only a moment. The Champion had been lying motionless on the cot. No signs of a struggle.

Keith was almost relaxed when the whine came again; louder this time. More insistent. Keith’s frown deepened and he moved closer to the cell, his weapon accidentally clinking on the metal of the door.

The sound must have triggered something in the Champion. In the space of a heartbeat, Keith dropped into a fighting stance and the Champion was snarling, screaming, and writhing on the bed with a fury that Keith had never seen in a person who was supposedly asleep.

When Keith got his wits about him enough to realize that the Champion wasn’t awake, let alone trying to break out, he watched with dull horror.

The Champion’s breath came in jagged cries, words half-formed in his throat, as he raked at the bed with his only set of claws.

Keith had been there for that battle. He had been watching, heart in his throat, as the Champion was drug from the arena, bleeding and limp.

He’d killed his prey, but his prey had nearly killed him in return.

If the Champion died, Keith’s mission was forfeit.

“H—hey,” Keith finally said, putting a hand to the side of the barred window in the cell. “Hey. _Hey.”_ He raised his voice to be heard over the screams. “Wake up!”

The screams halted as Keith’s voice broke over the shouted order.

The Champion blinked himself awake and groggily peered toward the window.

“You were screaming.” Keith finally said, in way of explanation. “In your sleep.”

The Champion only nodded, cleared his throat, and rolled back over.

Keith went back to his position.

He hoped he could call the Blades soon.

* * *

After the first night, Keith fell into a bit of a routine.

He’d relieve the evening guard, wait for a varga or two for the nightmares to set in, then wake the Champion up from the depths of the hell sleep offered him.

Keith didn’t blame him. Keith had been there for every fight in the arena. He had nightmares of his own and bore none of the scars from the events.

The Champion never spoke to him. The most Keith got was a grunt of thanks after he woke him from the nightmares.

Keith knew the rumours. During each of the Champion’s escape attempts, the guards nearest to him got the express pleasure of fighting for their lives. Most didn’t succeed, but not for lack of trying. Keith couldn’t be sure which of the scars on the Champion’s body came from the arena and which came from the guards.

He was formulating a plan to send back to the Blades with every night that trickled by. He knew he couldn’t try anything so soon into the position: the Galra hierarchy was still extremely suspicious of him due to the mixed nature of his heritage and the fact that he’d been at this positing for almost three movements with no complaints.

He would have to prove himself somehow in order to keep them from breathing down his neck long enough to get the message out to the Blades for backup.

Keith just couldn’t figure out _how._

* * *

The Champion spoke his first words to Keith almost two phoebs into Keith’s placement.

He lasted longer than any of the other guards at the post at that point, and Keith couldn’t decide what the rest of the guards were more thrilled about.

The most hated post of the guard was taken and taken by Keith. Keith hardly saw any of the other guards, as the Champion was in his own high-security cell at the end of the block.

They’d almost made Keith’s job too easy for him, not that he was complaining.

“Thank you,” The Champion said to him one night. Keith could have said that this had been the worst nightmare he’d witnessed in his life, and he’d been privy to quite a few at the hands of the Blades.

“Don’t worry about it,” Keith had responded, forcing his tone to be nonchalant.

The Champion had only grunted over his shoulder at Keith and gathered the blankets more tightly around himself.

Progress. Very, very, _very_ infinitesimal progress, but progress nonetheless. Keith was no closer to calling the Blades, but rapport with the subject couldn’t hurt his chances.

* * *

“Wake up! You’re dreaming again,” Keith shouted into the cell one night. It was tame, as far as the Champion’s nightmares had gone. He hadn’t been screaming this time. He’d only been whimpering and writhing, but Keith couldn’t take the sounds of pain anymore. It had worked its way in between Keith’s ears and _tugged_ , latching on and reminding Keith that this man of myth and legend was only just that: a man.

Men were vulnerable. Men could be haunted by a past they didn’t choose to create.

“When I was a kid, I lived on Earth,” Keith said out of the blue, sitting down in front of the Champion’s cell. He watched as the Champion turned over and peered at him, bleary with sleep and the last tendrils of the nightmare. “My father’s human. I’m only half-Galra.”

“Mm,” The Champion hummed, giving him an appraising look. “That’s why you’re so small.”

Keith took immediate offence.

“I’m not _that_ small,” He scoffed. The Champion narrowed his eyes at Keith, still for a heartbeat, before throwing back the blanket and taking two swinging strides to where Keith sat in front of the doors. The Champion sat gracefully, mirroring Keith with a hooded glare.

“Are too.”

Even while they were both seated, the Champion dwarfed Keith. That stoked a fire in Keith’s belly and he gulped, shaking his head curtly.

“You’re just big.”

“I am.” The Champion agreed slowly, nodding once.

Keith couldn’t think of anything even half-intelligent to say back, and so they sat and stared at each other as the moments dragged on. The Champion took stock of Keith, unabashedly curious, peering at his long hair, braided down his back, and the markings on Keith’s face that mirrored his mother’s.

Keith blinked slowly as he saw the scars cutting through the purple fur on the Champion’s remaining arm. The other was missing. The Galra-made prosthetic was only allowed in the ring, as it would aid the Champion should he decide to make another escape.

“Tell me about it.” The Champion asked, once his inventory of Keith was through.

“About…?” Keith asked, squinting at the man through the barrier.

“Earth.”

“I don’t remember much of anything. My mother took me when I was just a child. Looking as I do… I couldn’t hide.” Keith explained. He wasn’t sure why he was talking at all, but the Champion was safe. Prisoner or not, he was still a Blade agent. He wouldn’t blow Keith’s cover.

“And your mother…” The Champion trailed off.

“You might know her,” Keith replied. The Champion nodded gravely, locking eyes with Keith.

“I see.”

And that was it for the night, it seemed. The Champion got back into bed and laid down.

Well, mostly it. Keith stood up and turned to resume his post.

“Shiro.” He said, making Keith turn back around and look questioningly into the cell. “My name is Shiro.”

He managed to sleep for a few vargas in a row. Keith wondered if talking would help every night.

* * *

After that night, Keith brought a book with him. It wasn’t anything much, just a cheap story of pirates and plunder that he picked up in the commissary, but it was something to read to Shiro.

He would read a chapter a night, and by the end, Shiro would be asleep and still.

Keith found himself growing afraid when realized he was reaching the end of the book. He couldn’t find another story to read to Shiro in the commissary, and it wasn’t like he had friends aboard this ship to ask to borrow a book.

When Shiro saw that Keith carried a notebook with him on the night after they’d finished the pirate book, he quirked an eyebrow at him.

“I know. That was the only book on this ship,” Keith had drawled, sitting down on the floor in front of the cell. He was used to carrying the conversation. Shiro rarely spoke during their nights together, even now that he was getting sleep. “So, I hope this will be alright. I’m not really a writer, but I read a lot of books growing up. Had to keep myself company a lot. Mom was busy.”

“I know she was.” Shiro hummed, laying down and looking up at the ceiling. When Keith didn’t start reading, Shiro arched his back to peer, upside down and curious, at Keith.

Keith could only stare.

  
“You _do_ know her.”

“I do.” Shiro agreed, rolling over and folding his arm under his chin. He said no more, so Keith only cleared his throat and looked down at the notebook.

“My mom brought some books with her when we left Earth. There was one about a great king called Arthur. It was my favourite. So I wrote something like that for you,” Keith rambled, staring a hole in the page. “So just… Don’t laugh, okay?”

“I would never,” Shiro said, voice low. Keith snapped his gaze up to where Shiro still lounged on the bed. His eyes, yellow and piercing, gleamed in the darkness. They were locked on Keith with unwavering intensity. “Thank you. For sharing this with me. You don’t have to… Care,”

“Well, I do,” Keith said quietly. “I’ve seen what they do to you in the arena.” Shiro flinched slightly. “I’m sorry.”

“I am too,” Shiro replied, curling around himself. He said nothing else, so Keith cleared his throat again and began to speak.

“Once upon a time, there was a young knight…”

* * *

The next night, Keith brought the notebook back with him. He felt silly, reading a handwritten bedtime story to the most fearsome warrior the Galra Empire had ever captured, but when he was sitting in front of Shiro’s cell, he didn’t act like the Champion.

He was just Shiro, the man who’d quietly wrapped himself in his single threadbare blanket and stared at Keith with doleful eyes when the pirate’s love interest had died in the cheap novel, the man who’d oohed and ahhed during every fight scene and laughed until he cried at a scene where the pirates dressed like foreign dignitaries to escape the law.

He was only Shiro, someone Keith didn’t truly know, but someone that Keith hoped he got the chance to know.

During Keith’s days, between his other duties, he could be found writing feverishly in that notebook. He watched as Shiro became interested, then invested, then well and truly thrilled by his story. It wasn’t anything special; Keith truly didn’t have the time or the energy to put deep thought into the tale, spin it into something fantastic, but Shiro acted as though he’d never heard anything like it.

“Why do you like it so much?” Keith asked one night.

“Because.” Shiro had hummed, toying with the edge of his blanket. “You write it just for me.”

* * *

Even Keith could tell he was getting in too deep.

He hoped it wasn’t showing to the point that the other guards noticed that he was off, but he figured he’d been too strange from the very beginning of his post for the guards to actually notice a change in behaviour.

Small miracles.

Keith looked forward to every moment he spent with Shiro, then spent the hours he was supposed to be spending asleep worrying about how he was going to get Shiro out of there. He compiled a plan, from start to nearly finish. He knew the route he’d take to get from Shiro’s cell to the lower loading bay, where he’d instruct his mother to be. He knew exactly what ship his mother would bring to avoid detection as a Blade. He even knew the route and the jumps to take to evade re-capture, but Keith would be damned if he knew how he was going to disable the alarm system on Shiro’s cell.

In the meantime, Keith’s sprawling tale of knights and dragons carried on, and every night, Keith fought to keep his hands on his side of the bars.

They’d taken to sitting back-to-back, against the bars. If Keith’s head tipped too far back, he would only just brush the spot between Shiro’s shoulder blades.

He tried not to do that too often. The first time it’d happened, Shiro had shuddered, making Keith spring up in surprise.

“No,” Shiro had murmured after a moment. “I don’t mind. You only startled me.”

Tentatively, Keith tipped his head back again, bringing his knees up to rest his elbows on so that he could still read from the notebook.

Shiro leant into the touch. Keith didn’t know when the last time anyone had touched him without the intent to kill, but Keith’s felt his heart skip a beat at the thought that it got to be him that broke that streak.

“Keith,” Shiro murmured, voice heavy with sleep. “Do you have to leave?”

“Yes,” Keith replied, turning to look at Shiro. He was slumped against the side of the cell, blanket wrapped around him. “The guard will change and I doubt they’re going to take kindly on what we’ve been doing all night.”

“No, I mean… Until morning. Can you sit here? With me?”

In the end, Keith found that he was powerless to say no.

* * *

One night, Shiro’s hand found its way outside of the bars of his cell. Keith read on, not acknowledging it for fear of misinterpretation.

His voice _did_ stutter when Shiro turned his hand over, palm up, and tipped his head to the side.

Keith laced his fingers with Shiro’s in a fit of impulsivity, but Shiro didn’t snarl at him or snatch his hand back.

He only squeezed once and smiled at Keith.

Keith squeezed back.

He didn’t know where they were going with all of this, didn’t know if it could possibly be more than what it was now, didn’t even know what _it_ was, but what Keith did know was simple: He would do anything for Shiro. Whatever it takes.

* * *

Keith could barely keep his walking pace somewhere south of “dead sprint”. His heart was in his throat and he blindly made every turn, every security checkpoint, every closed door that lead him to Shiro as the panic grew in his chest.

He had been at the arena that morning.

He had seen the fight.

He had seen Shiro go down and had felt the bottom drop out of his stomach when Shiro hit the ground.

Shiro had won, of course. Even from the ground, the Galra-made arm and the man attached to it was deadly. But he didn’t stand again. The arena guards had gone out and dragged him to his cell, limp and bloodied.

Keith didn’t know how badly Shiro was injured, but he knew Shiro wasn’t standing at the cell door waiting for him when he arrived.

“Shiro,” Keith gasped, hands wrapping around the bars of the cell. “Shiro, are you alright?”

“Keith,” Shiro murmured. He was sitting on the cot, propped against the wall of the cell. He held his midsection with his arm, face contorted into a grimace. “The medic hasn’t been by,”

“Fuck the medic,” Keith growled. He pulled supplies out of his hip pack and kneeled on the ground. “Will you be able to pick these up?”

“Yeah,” Shiro said through gritted teeth. Keith watched, aching, as Shiro sunk to his knees and pressed his back against the side of the cot. Keith stretched his arm as far out as it would go and Shiro could just barely reach the small bag of antiseptic, bandages, and gauze.

Keith felt his heart in his teeth as he watched Shiro fumble one-handedly with the bottle of antiseptic.

“Keith, I…” He muttered, raising clouded eyes to Keith’s. His jaw worked and he frowned, confused, before taking a shuddering breath. “I had to wait for you.”

“Wait for what? Shiro,” Keith’s voice was getting shrill and he had a white-knuckled grip on the bars of the cell, but if he were to let go, Keith knew he would fall. “Shiro, you’re not doing anything, okay? You have to try, please, Shiro,”

“It’s my hand. I _can’t--_ ” Shiro blinked down at his palm. “I’m… I’m so tired.”

“No, Shiro,” Keith sobbed. “No, please, Shiro, you have to try. Please,”

“I used to be right-handed,” Shiro said muzzily.

“Don’t do this,” Keith begged. “Please don’t do this to me, Shiro, please just try. You can do it, please,”

“I’m so sorry, Keith.”

Shiro’s head tipped back and the bottle of antiseptic slipped from his tremulous grasp. The thud of the bottle hitting the floor shot a shock of electricity through Keith, starting from the soles of his feet and burning through the palms of his hands.

Fuck the mission.

Fuck the Galra Empire.

He stood and with a fluid motion, pressed his hand against the palm scanner on Shiro’s cell.

He wasted no time kneeling and putting his hands on Shiro’s face.

“Shiro? Shiro, please wake up,” He babbled, reaching for the antiseptic. He tore a package of gauze open with his teeth and inspected the wound.

It was bad, but not the worst that Keith had ever seen. It was likely a mixture of Shiro losing blood throughout the vargas that Keith couldn’t get down to the cell and the lacklustre diet that the Empire had him on, but Keith hoped that if he stopped the bleeding soon, Shiro would stabilize.

He hoped the other guards didn’t hear the alarm and get down here before he could at least get Shiro bandaged and partially awake.

Keith knew he was strong for his size, but he wasn’t confident that he’d be able to carry Shiro the whole way to the lower dock. Keith could steal a cruiser and get the hell out of dodge, then call the Blades for backup.

He’d rather get Shiro out alive and lose his rank in the Blades of Marmora than watch Shiro die in front of him.

Keith wrapped the last of the compression bandage around Shiro’s body before kneeling back down next to him.

“Shiro, you have to come-to. Please. We have to get out of here.”

“Keith?” Shiro hissed, hand pressing against his wound. His eyelids fluttered as he fought his way back to the surface. “What are you… You’re in here with me.”

“Yeah, Shiro. I’m here.” Keith assured him. “The alarms—”

“They’re not going off,” Shiro replied softly, tipping his head onto Keith’s shoulder.

“They don’t have silent alarms or anything on your door? If it’s opened when it shouldn’t be?” Keith asked, blinking down at Shiro.

“You’re my guard,” Shiro replied, voice heavy with the sleep of someone on the edge of never waking up. “You must be in the system.”

“I’m… I must be.” Keith murmured to himself. Shiro tugged Keith down to sit next to him and Keith obeyed, in a daze. He looked over to where the door sat wide open.

“Please. Stay.” Shiro said quietly, right against Keith’s neck.

In the end, Keith found he couldn’t say no.

* * *

Shiro healed.

Keith wasn’t sure what he would do if he _didn’t_.

That wasn’t an option.

They didn’t make him fight in the arena over the next two movements, and Keith bitterly wondered which one of the generals had money on Shiro that they’d allow him to stop fighting long enough to heal.

That left Shiro restless and now that he knew that Keith could get into his cell unhindered, he was relentless.

“Why don’t you read to me in here?” He asked the next night, sitting with his knees pressed to the bars of the cell.

“Shiro, it’s not… It’s not that I don’t want to be with you.” Keith replied, looking up from the notebook. “If I get caught in there, with you, the mission is blown.”

“Mission,” Shiro mused. “You really think you’ll get me out?”

“I know I will,” Keith replied, nodding once and setting his jaw.

“Mm,” Shiro hummed. He dragged his gaze up Keith’s body before giving Keith a shrug. It was all Keith could do to not bare his teeth at the other man.

Bastard.

“What if someone comes down here?”

“They won’t. They never have before.”

“You’re injured.”

“Not _that_ injured.”

“Shiro, I…” Keith frowned at Shiro. The real reason wasn’t that he was worried that he would get caught. He’d already sent the message to his mother. He was set to tell Shiro that evening that they would move at the end of the next movement, once the Blades were ready for extraction. “Am I just convenient?”

The words tumbled out before Keith could stop them.

Shiro froze, mouth slightly agape.

“Keith,” He said softly. “No. _No,_ ” He insisted, pushing himself to his knees with a wince. He put his hand through the bars and Keith took it. “Keith, even if we weren’t here like this, I would want you.”

“Why?” Keith asked, frowning and shaking his head as the implication swirled around, making him dizzy.

“You’re… Beautiful. Kind. Smart. You’re so full of fire, Keith,” Shiro murmured, letting go of Keith’s hand to gently cup his face. His thumb traced Keith’s lower lip and Keith’s hand gently circled Shiro’s wrist.

“Am I?” Keith replied, tilting his head into Shiro’s embrace.

“You keep me going. Every night, I know you’ll be here. I didn’t know why I’d been fighting for so long. Now… It’s you. To see you for one more night. Just… One more night, Keith.” Keith closed his eyes, rocking back on his heels, as that washed over him. The sensation was nearly physical and he felt tears prick his eyes as he tangled his fingers with Shiro’s.

“Okay.” Keith agreed. “If we get caught, we run.”

“We’ll run.” Shiro agreed.

“Down to the lower docks. I’ll steal a cruiser and get us out of here.” Keith stood, hand hovering over the palm reader for the cell.

“Okay.” Shiro agreed, standing carefully and taking a step back.

The door swung open, and when no klaxons sounded and no flashing lights warned them that they were made, Keith took a step into Shiro’s embrace.

Shiro’s mouth was warm, lips gently teasing over Keith’s skin, as he trailed kisses down Keith’s throat.

Keith let out a tiny mewl and he gripped Shiro’s shoulders, pupils blowing wide.

“Is this okay?” Shiro whispered into Keith’s ear.

“Absolutely,” Keith replied, running his hands up the sides of Shiro’s shirt. The wound was closed, but tender yet, so Keith made a mental note to take it easy on him—

Shiro hooked his arm under Keith’s ass and dropped him onto the cot before boxing him in on his hand and knees.

“Oh,” Keith huffed, shock still coursing through him as Shiro undid his belt.

“Keith,” Shiro growled, looking up from where he looked as though he was getting ready to simply chew through the leather rather than try and undo it one-handed. Keith reached down and unhooked his belt, setting it on the floor next to them, and in a frantic back-and-forth, they stripped each other down until Keith was sprawled out on his back, fully nude, staring up at Shiro.

Shiro took every part of him in, eyes, hand and mouth wandering over Keith’s body.

“You’re an alpha,” Shiro muttered, mild surprise and something akin to smugness on his face.

“We didn’t think I’d present,” Keith said shrugging. “Mom’s side is stronger than we thought.”

Shiro bent down and threaded his hand in Keith’s hair.

“They’ve had me on suppressants the entire time I’ve been here,” Shiro said softly, his breath tickling the shell of Keith’s ear.

“You’re an omega,” Keith replied, looking up into Shiro’s eyes. Shiro watched with a lazy smirk as Keith’s pupils dilated even further until nearly the entire iris was black.

“Touch me and find out,” Shiro said, unable to keep from begging any longer.

In a flash, Keith had his arm hooked around the crook of Shiro’s leg and they were flipped, Keith bent over Shiro’s large frame with Shiro’s hand on Keith’s shoulder. Keith’s hand dipped between Shiro’s legs and he found his fingers covered in slick. Shiro hummed, low in his throat, and the hand on Keith’s shoulder tightened.

Shiro swore as Keith’s fingers plunged inside him. Keith watched as Shiro’s eyes rolled back in his head, his hips working in tandem with Keith’s wrist as Shiro gasped for air.

“More, Keith, please,” Shiro begged, and Keith added another finger, stretching Shiro open. “I want _you,_ Keith. I want you.”

Keith cupped Shiro’s jaw and gave him a soft, tentative smile as he lined himself up with Shiro’s hole.

In the end, Keith really couldn’t say no to Shiro.

* * *

For three quintants, every night, Keith had slept with Shiro. He didn’t feel like it was real. It couldn’t be, not after four deca-phoebs of waiting to find Shiro in the first place.

It would be five whole deca-phoebs before his mother arrived at the docks.

Keith was soon relieved of his other duties and he went to his bunk to sleep until guard duty with Shiro.

He couldn’t forget to tell Shiro about the plan again. Each night became more feverish than the last, and in the haze, he’d even fallen asleep on Shiro’s bunk the night before.

Shiro had kept watch, but he still hadn’t had a chance to tell Shiro of the plan.

That night, he’d do it for sure. First thing, before he even unlocked the cell. He had to tell Shiro that they were saved.

* * *

For a moment, Keith hadn’t been sure why he’d been woken up.

There was one blissful, ignorant moment before Keith came back to consciousness, and in that moment, Keith’s thoughts had been only on Shiro.

When the chaos around him registered, those thoughts slipped away like sand through his fingers.

There were hands all over him, voices barking at him to move, to get up, to go _now_ , and Keith couldn’t help but obey. He was confused, half asleep, half-dressed, and his feet took him out into the hallway before he realized who was shoving him along.

Some of the other guards.

There were weapons trained on him and his blood turned to ice in his veins.

He’d been made.

They were going to shoot him dead before the rest of the Blades could reach him.

Just as they rounded the bend, Keith’s superior officer’s office in sight, Keith’s leg snapped out and brought the guard to his left down.

He snatched the weapon in the brief moment of confusion and managed to fire off two shots, both hitting their targets, before another guard jammed the butt of his weapon in Keith’s jaw, sending stars exploding across Keith’s vision.

He fired a shot into the guard’s face and turned to the two remaining guards, kicking out again and clipping the one nearest to him in the face.

They were shooting at him, but in the narrow hallway, Keith avoided their shots by never coming to a stop.

He landed a few solid hits on the guards, but they were big, bigger than even Shiro.

He fired another shot and actually hit one of them in the chest before he felt something tangle around him and light him up with more electricity than he’d ever felt before.

He couldn’t do anything but scream.

“Look at you go,” A voice drawled from above him. His superior. “You know, I was originally just going to kill you. You do realize that we have a video feed of the Champion’s cell?”

Keith ground his teeth, grunting against the electrical current running through his veins.

“Guess not. Hell of a good show, if you ask me. No, I’m not going to kill you.” The general chuckled, standing and pressing a button in his hand. The electricity stopped, leaving Keith’s body feeling limp and useless. “We’re going to put you to work in the arena. You better fight like that out there,” The general warned, waving a hand at the corpses of his men around Keith. “I’ve already got some money riding on you.”

* * *

That night, Shiro and Keith held each other, but their hands didn’t wander this time.

Shiro held onto Keith like his grip alone could keep him there, next to him.

“I should have listened,” Shiro croaked. He’d been crying, Keith knew, but so what? So had Keith.

“Don’t,” Keith said quietly, dropping a kiss on Shiro’s forearm.

“You were right.”

“And?” Keith asked rhetorically, shaking his head with a frown. “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. We just have to focus. Four more quintants, and my mother will be here.”

Shiro tucked his head against Keith’s temple and took a deep breath.

“What’s the new plan?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Keith admitted. “Any thoughts?”

“We wait until they take us out to fight us, on that fourth day,” Shiro said quietly. “And just like every other time I’ve broken out, I’ll give them hell.”

“ _We_.” Keith corrected. “ _We’ll_ give them hell.”

“Mm.” Shiro hummed. “No. I’ll distract them. You run. You’ll have to break into the cruiser. I’ll meet you there.”

“Okay,” Keith agreed. “You better get your ass down there,” Keith warned, turning to look Shiro in the eyes. “Or I swear I’ll blow this whole ship apart.”

“I’ll get down there. We’ll get out of the hangar and immediately get in contact with your mom, tell her to turn around.” Shiro said, threading his fingers in Keith’s hair. “And we follow her back.”

“Back home,” Keith said, a slow smile spreading over his face. Shiro brought Keith down to lay on his chest.

“Back home.” He agreed.

Keith didn’t have his notebook, but Shiro persuaded him to tell him what he remembered. Shiro argued that he couldn’t sleep without the story, but Shiro probably knew that Keith needed something to keep his mind occupied.

And in the end, who was Keith kidding? He just couldn’t say no.

* * *

Keith was awoken for the second time in the same amount of deca-phoebs by a cacophony. This time, it was the sound of the door of the cell clanging open.

“Up.” The guard barked. Keith sat up and Shiro swung his feet onto the floor. “Both of you.”

“Both of us?” Shiro asked, looking to Keith in terror. “No,”

“Get moving.” The guard barked, prodding Shiro with the butt of his weapon. Four more guards stood outside, weapons trained on Shiro and Keith as they left the cell.

Shiro couldn’t take his eyes off of Keith. Keith tried to stay calm, he tried to keep the hand that clasped Shiro’s from shaking, he tried to look unafraid, but the only thing that was thrumming through his mind was that they had been so close.

Keith had been _so close_ to getting Shiro out of here.

They were thrown into a holding tank with a handful of other prisoners. They all gave Shiro a wide berth and eyed Keith curiously as he curled up on Shiro’s lap when he sat down in a corner of the cell.

It only took moments for the door to open again.

“You and you,” A guard barked, pointing to two of the prisoners there. They made their way over to the door, shoulders squared.

They knew that only one of them would be going back to their cots that night.

Shiro could only wrap his arm around Keith’s waist and bury his face in Keith’s neck.

“We can do this,” Keith said quietly. “We both can. You’ll see. We just have a little longer.”

Two more prisoners were called, then two more, until Shiro shut his eyes and tilted his head back to rest against the wall.

“Keith,” He said, voice low. He sounded defeated. Exhausted. “They’re fighting _us_.”

Keith looked around the room. There were still a few more pairs of prisoners, but for some reason, what Shiro said struck a chord.

“How do you know?”

“You’re new. They would have fought you first.” He said hoarsely. Keith felt a bubble of panic rise up in his chest.

“No,” He tried to deny it, but he’d been here five deca-phoebs, after all. He knew the rules just as much as Shiro did.

They were saving them for the headlining fight.

The Champion and his lover. A fight to the death.

Keith took Shiro’s face in his hands and he couldn’t hold back the tears any longer.

“Shiro,” He said, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “You’ll have to do it.”

“No,” Shiro said immediately. “I won’t.”

“If I do it, they’ll just kill me, too. You have a chance.” Keith pleaded as Shiro screwed his face up against the tears.

“No, please, Keith,” He begged, voice breaking. “Don’t make me see you, too. Don’t make me see you every night, Keith, please,”

“You’ll be able to get out, Shiro,” Keith said, shoving down the sob that threatened to burst from his throat. “Then at least one of us will make it.”

“Keith, I can’t,” Shiro shook his head and Keith wrapped his arms around Shiro’s neck. He didn’t have any platitudes, any words for Shiro to take with him into that arena.

So instead, Keith tried to remember where he’d been the night before.

Last he’d checked, the young knight had finally crept his way into the heart of the dragon’s lair and they were about to come face to face for the first time.

Keith cleared his throat and began to speak.

“The young knight saw a glowing light in the tunnel ahead of him. He knew this was where the beast lay…”

XXX

They were the last two in the cell, their worst fears confirmed. They’d both fallen silent, simply holding each other until their time was up.

When the cell door clanged open, Shiro had sprung to his feet and put himself between Keith and the door.

“No!” He growled, dropping into a defensive stance. The guards swarmed around him, jabbing him with their stun batons and laughing as he howled.

Keith fought against the guards that came for him tooth and nail, unwilling to go down without a fight, but in the end, there were simply too many of them.

Shiro was wrestled into his prosthetic and they were shoved out into the ring.

Keith ran to Shiro and wrapped his arms around his waist to the deafening roar of the crowd.

“Shiro, I love you!” He screamed.

“I’m not going to do it,” Shiro screamed back, tears trailing down his face.

“Please, Shiro.” Keith shook his head frantically. If they stood here like this for too long, the guards would shoot them both. He couldn’t let Shiro die, not now. Not when they were so close.

He kicked out with his leg, allowing his foot to connect with Shiro’s head.

Shiro didn’t put up a fight.

“Fight back, Shiro. You have to fight back.” Keith screamed, landing another kick. Shiro’s chest heaved as he dropped to his knees. “Please, they’re going to kill us both,”

“I can’t hurt you,” Shiro wept. His hands fell to the ground and he hung his head.

He watched as one tear hit the ground, then two. The crowd cheered in slow motion. He didn’t know how long he couldn’t breathe, how long he couldn’t think, how long his heart refused to beat, but it couldn’t have been long.

Shiro knew damn good and well that they started shooting at fifteen ticks.

He heard the shot and it was like time sped back up, working in overtime, as he saw Keith crumple.

Shiro couldn’t even scream. He dragged Keith’s body to his chest, Keith’s hands clutching at his stomach. Blood poured out from between Keith’s fingertips and Keith swallowed once, twice, his mouth working as his eyes squinted in pain.

“I’m never going to finish that story,” Keith said, letting go of his wound to reach for Shiro.

“No, Keith,” Shiro babbled, taking Keith’s hand away from his face and pressing them both against Keith’s stomach. “Keep pressure on it. Hold on, Keith, we’ll—”

“ _We_ can’t,” Keith said, shaking his head. “Shiro, I love you.”

“Don’t tell me that, please, save it. Tell me when we’re out of here,” Shiro begged him, tears running freely down his face. He knew he was running out of time.

Keith hiccoughed, his grip on Shiro’s hands weakening.

“Please hold on,”

In the end, as much as it broke Keith’s heart, he couldn’t give Shiro what he wanted.

Keith’s eyes slid shut and Shiro heard the second shot.

It didn’t hurt. Not really. Nothing more or less than any other day he’d spent in the arena.

He curled himself around Keith’s body as the room began to dim. Was the crowd getting quiet, or was Shiro unable to hear them screaming?

He'd never know.

“I love you, Keith.”


End file.
